World Weary Travelers Finding Rest, Chyril 22nd, Mid TT

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Lir Calysta Markby
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World Weary Travelers Finding Rest, Chyril 22nd, Mid TT

Post by Lir Calysta Markby »

It was hard pressed to figure out what was worse, the sounds or the smells of the Great Market. It was so loud with everything going on, and the scent of savory dishes intermingled with the strong perfumes as well as stench of unwashed bodies and waste. It made her shudder inside with thoughts of the bad conditions on some of the ships she had to work on.

The healer made sure that her items were secured as she followed Holler with Sweeney and Brann taking up the rear. She looked about for any potential herb shops, book shops, and clothing shops along the way formulating a plan to blend in more readily. She also kept an eye out for the place called the Laughin' Dwimmerwick so she could rest a bit before picking up some supplies and knowledge.

She moved through the crowd cautiously evading entertainers, animals and shoppers. Hawkers could be heard trying to entice passerbys and she gave a subtle look and kept walking. Her expression made it clear she wasn't the type to be bothered with an unfriendly scowl to scare little children and intimidate others. Of course having an orc and half-giant helped to clear the way.



ooc: used partial description of the Great Market to begin a new thread per Mod: Morgy
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Post by Brann »

Brann struggled to follow along with the rest of the group, but it was only partly due to his injury. If he'd been able to concentrate solely on placing one foot in front of the other he'd have been fine, especially with Sweeney's reassuring presence. But Lir just had to choose a path right through the heart of the market, and that stole the achadhiel's concentration faster than you could snap your fingers.

The smells were atrocious and made more so by the oppressive heat, the cacophony of hawkers, hagglers and other patrons assaulted his ears mercilessly, and the collage of bright colours and shiny objects forced his eyes to dart about endlessly. It was distraction incarnate, and it was Brann's element. He was practically drooling at the thought of carousing in the bazaar.

But in trying to soak up the local flavour and memorize points and people of interest, Brann opened himself up to little mishaps. He bumped into at least three people, once grazing his wounded arm in the process. After calling both the Twins to task in rather crude terms until the pain subsided, the achadhiel resumed his study of the market only the stumble over a small depression in the hard-packed dirt.

"Could we find the inn first, Lir?" he called ahead to the healer, more from a sense of self-preservation than any acute distress. If they spent much more time in the bazaar Brann was sure he would end up flat on his face in the dust, and probably with more than a sore arm. "Then the rest of you can peruse the market to your leisure."
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Post by Morg »

Just up the cliffs from the docks stood the largest of the three domes of Sabata, and in its centre was the Great Market, the hub of Sabata's commerce. Almost everything could be seen on one stand or other, from books and vegetables to animals and minerals. It was definitely a place to come to be noticed and to find what you want. The animals ran from domesticated camels and long-tailed sheep to exotic birds of Sabata. One stall even held a display of legendary Sabatan salamanders. The fire lizards on show were of a variety of different colours, ranging from brilliant oranges and yellows to deep black-blues.

Entertainers also dotted the area, showing off their abilities by walking on their hands, charming snakes out of baskets, fire eating tricks and sultry dances as well as many others that one's mind may not have comprehended at one time or another. The small party found that their senses were constantly assaulted by the smell of spices, cooking food and drying meats as well as other not so pleasant scents, and the sound of thousands of voices - vendors shouting out their wares and others haggling down prices - all trying to win over the noise pollution to get what they want.

It was tradetide, so the pace and tempo of the market was more sedate now, people shuffling around slowly and often purposelessly. Despite the small eddies and gusts of air which skittered around sporadically, and the dome far overhead providing protection from the sun, the heat of the day was oppressive. While there were still crowds, they were looser, more dispersed affairs, which made it easier for a path to be cleared for Brann.

The Market also funnelled into various shops, inns and other establishments for travellers and natives alike to use their resources. One in particular stood out to Lir: a two-storey building painted flamboyantly in cool blue, standing in one of the circles just outside the Market proper and surrounded by leafy plants standing in pots. An elegantly scripted sign proclaimed its name to be "Rare Blessings". A few colourfully appointed clothes shops could be seen surrounding the central area, and garments of all colours and sizes in a variety of patterns were available on the market itself. No dedicated booksellers could be seen in the vicinity, although a few books were scattered around on curio stalls.

Denning's instructions proved to be accurate, and the Laughing Dwimmerwick could soon be seen. It was a tall building in the second circle of the dome, sandwiched between a chandler's workshop and a small private house. Beyond its wide, arched portal was a cool, dark hallway with a row of hooks in the wall for hanging coats and cloaks. In this hall was a counter, and behind it was a slim woman sitting at a desk playing with an abacus.

To the right an archway led down two steps to the common room. This was a low-ceilinged room lit by wall-hung lanterns which had a slight greenish hue to them. Tables and chairs in dark wood sat upon patterned rugs, and the bar was currently unattended. The only occupant of the room was a man dressed in a dull brown robe, who was sitting up straight at a corner table and reading from a long roll of parchment.
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Post by Guest »

He didn't have a clue were he was going. Still, the market - he'd learned early in life - was bound to be in a central location, usually near the highest point of a city. A church tower or somesuch thing tended to point the way faultlessly. These tall canopies changed everything though. Shrugging he stomped his way towards the largest of Sabata's three domes. With more luck then wisdom, he guided the others towards the Great Market.

Glad to have started his self appointed job as leader on a high, Holler glanced at Lir. She was the closest one on his heels. Noting the glances the healer cast into the shop interiors as they passed them by, the Orc chuckled. Women! He rolled his eyes at the half elf. The gesture didn't arrive as Brann's eyes followed his head in a nosedive, after a rather clumsy stumble. The man seemed to be in some genuine distress. Perhaps 'tis wise to get him horizontal sometime soon...

Luckily not many flickers after, the party arrived at the 'Laughing Dwimmerwick' - whatever that might be. Well, it was an Inn of course. In the greenskin's eyes it looked like somekind of palace. He wasn't used to anything beyond plank cots, packed earthen floors and barely decent grub. Holler's deep black eyes twinkled with awe. Feeling out of place, he tugged in his elbows so he wouldn't spoil any of the fine decor. Doubtfully he grunted a bit too loud: "This can't be right. 'Tis a palace". A suspicous sneer creased the wide mouth. "Or somekind of seat...seat of power!"

Sniffing, Sleipnir tried to sift through the unfamiliar scents and odours. One he picked out - as he always did; ALE! A bar. They've got a bar in here! His Orcish nose pointed him in the direction of an archway on the right. Holler snorted, poking Sweeney in the ribs. "Mayhap this place ain't half bad, after all."
Last edited by Guest on Thu Apr 26, 2007 8:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Sweeney »

Propping up the injured and none-too-steady Brann, Sweeney had brought up the rear of the party as they made their passage through the great market. It probably would have been simpler, and in the end, safer, if half-giant had simply slung the achadhiel over his shoulder and carried him, but Brann seemed to have a stubborn sort of pride and insisted on continuing to walk under his own power. As a result, Sweeney spent more time keeping an eye on his erratic patient than on the local sights. Eventually they reached their destination, a quiet and apparently upscale (at least in comparisonto their last locale) little inn off the main market.

While they waited to be attended by the innkeeper, Holler caught sent of his favorite quarry: booze. The orc's enthusiasm for his discovery was puntuated by a series of jabs at Sweeney's ribs. The ex-boxer stiffened in anticipation of another of surge of the brute's easily ignited anger, but it appeared the gesture was actually a friendly one. "Um, yes?" he replied awkwardly. "It seems like nice place."
'Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees / Letting his arms hang down to laugh
The zebra stripes along his jaw / Swelling to maculate giraffe.'
--T.S. Eliot

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Post by Lir Calysta Markby »

The place was beautiful despite its rough edges. Lir thought to herself as she heard Brann's voice and her name. It was still foreign when someone called her by name but running with a crowd it was bound to happen more often than naught. She still wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

"I'm aware of your condition Brann and we are making our way there now." She looked about picking out a couple of choice places that appealed to her personal needs but kept walking until they arrived at the Laughing Dwimmerwick. The place is clean! Was Lir's first impression and it was confirmed as the ill-mannered orc started to feel uncomfortable exclaiming that the place was a palace. Then he playfully poked Sweeney with the mention of a bar and without either of them looking rolled her eyes before approaching the inn.

She knew that all of them were of an adult age and did not need her to order rooms for them so as she approached the woman with the abacus and gave a smile, "Good day, Ma'am, I am in need of a room for myself."
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Post by Brann »

Brann delayed as they passed through the Dwimmerwick's inviting arched doorway, allowing the cool shade to seep into his bones as he reveled in the sensation. After the stifling heat of the market it was heavenly.

"Thank you for your help," he murmured to Sweeney, able now to use the walls and furnishings of the hall to steady his steps. If not for the half-giant he was certain the trip through the market would have been disastrous.

The interior was unexpectedly decent considering who had recommended the place, and Brann found himself pleasantly surprised with the inn. He hoped the rooms were similarly well-appointed, but even so found himself looking forward to spending some restful burns at the Dwimmerwick.

That Holler's attention was immediately drawn to the small bar area was no surprise, and while the achadhiel's onyx eyes also scanned the room he fixed on the robed man reading a parchment. A list, he thought with mixed emotions as his flight from the Citadel immediately came to mind.

Waiting behind Lir for his turn with the inn's desk clerk, the achadhiel thought only for a flicker before deciding a private room was the way to go. As enticing a thought as it might be, Lir had already asked for her own room, and sharing with either of his other huge companions was simply out of the question. He already had a bad arm, he didn't need to get squashed in his sleep!

"I would also like a room for myself," Brann asked the woman behind the counter, once she was ready for him. "Something with a breeze, if there is such a thing in this city."
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Post by Guest »

The half giant abdominal muscles tensed beneath his finger. Holler peered up at the man. Sweeney's awkward reply warned the Orc off. Apparently he had - once again - forewarned everyone about his tantrums. In his own mind they weren't that bad, they were good ol' orcish tradition after all. Who has ever heard of a placid Orc!? Under his breath the green warrior chuckled softly. Only ever placid Orc I've heard off was a dead'un!

With the tall pugilist's opinion of the Inn toning down his own unveiled enthusiasm, Holler found himself somewhat pressed to point out an obvious plus of the establishment. "No Inn is decent unless it hides a well stocked bar under her skirts." The former sailor shrugged. "Well, that's what I think anyways."

Torn between a longing to renew his acquaintance of the local brew and fulfilling his duty in the self imposed role as the leader, Holler was glad to see that Lir and Brann were inquiring for a room already. Now he could go and pursue his first love without any regrets or guilt. Seeing that two of his companions had already engaged the woman with the strange beaded curtain, he grunted shortly: "I'm off to sample the Ale. See you all later..."

Turning his leathery soles towards the steps, the Orc showed his teeth - in what was meant to be a conspiring grin - at Sweeney. "You coming or going?"
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Post by Grant »

There really wasn't any way she could not have noticed the party approaching. After all, they had to approach through a hallway she could clearly see...and she certainly wasn't asleep, her fingers dancing over the abacus. It became rather clear that she wasn't counting anything at the moment, but rather the abacus...made of twine, thin spars of wood, and colorful rock beads...was a toy for Ulmandra's amusement to occupy her until her newest guests were close enough to greet. While her facade of not noticing her newest guests was quite complete, she didn't hesitate to give them all the benefit of a broad, radiant smile when they finally neared.

"Welcome to the Dwimmerwick," she murmured, her eyes flashing over the newly-arrived individuals. Ex-mercenaries? she postulated...an easy guess considering that most of Sabata's recent immigrants were recent mercenaries, hired or bought to fight in some distant place. She first nodded towards Lir, arching an eyebrow and glancing over the remainder of the company casually as if to think so you'll be sleeping alone tonight. A wise choice, considering... "...and another for you. You can take any of them you like, upstairs...so long as they're unoccupied and unlocked, of course," she replied.

She didn't have keys, like many of the fancier places in other countries. Instead, she had several rooms protected by deadbolts...and to claim a room at the Dwimmerwick meant nothing more than to pick one out and claim it. "If you've any valuables to store, just bring them to me, guarrdi." She didn't comment upon Brann's request for a breeze. Such a thing was available, of course, but few wanted it. The desert turri had a tendency to carry upon it sand, grit, and dust...and those stuck with window rooms often awakened to find themselves covered in the stuff. "There will be lamb, bhuuz, and fruits in another tide, if you require food."

All around them was a sense of...quiet. That might have seemed surprising considering the uproar, heat, and intensity of the markets just beyond the door...but the hostel (and it's cool, gloomy commons) seemed quiet and isolated...like a cave dug into a mountain.
Last edited by Grant on Tue May 01, 2007 3:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Sweeney »

Accustomed as he was to living among boisterous crowds, Sweeney found the pervasive calm of the Laughing Dwimmer to be a little unsettling. The half-giant resolved pretty quickly that he would not be taking a room in the establishment. He would stick to his harborside flophouse for now. Meanwhile Holler was being anything but quiet, continuing to extoll the virtues of ale and his intentions to consume same. "You coming or going?" demanded the orc as he bared his teeth in what could just as easily be interpreted as a snarl or a smile.

Still uncertain of how to read his new green-skinned companion, Sweeney hesitated several flickers, but finally gave in to curiosity and followed Holler into the taproom. "Be right there," he called after the orc. "I'll, uh, keep an eye on our friend while y'all sort this out," he explained, a bit awkwardly, to Lir and Brann.
'Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees / Letting his arms hang down to laugh
The zebra stripes along his jaw / Swelling to maculate giraffe.'
--T.S. Eliot

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Post by Lir Calysta Markby »

Lir liked the place, it was cool and quiet. A deep contrast from what they had just left of the Market. A nod was given. "Thank you, d'war." The healer had used the term that the bartender at the seedy tavern had referred her with. It would be quite interesting if it was an insult but what better way to start your education of another land's language.

Guarrdi...wonder what that means... She thought as the woman referred that their valuables could be left with her. Turri meaning uhm...wind? She tried to keep up with the terms that the hostess brought up but did not ask for clarification, instead she nodded in understanding at the mention of food and how the rooming system worked.

It was obvious by the way Holler and Sweeney were acting that the place was making them a bit uncomfortable. Again Holler decided to go off and drink with Sweeney being his partner in crime. She silently hoped they wouldn't get her in trouble but held her peace as they left her there with Brann and the hostess. It was amusing that Sweeney had decided to 'take care' of the orc and she imagined he had no idea what that would curtail but again she kept her peace. "Be careful." She stated as she looked up at Sweeney but kept it simple. It would be his decision to interpret it and in a way she did it on purpose. Be careful that he kept his hands away from Holler's mouth. Be careful that there are dangerous people around. Be careful that he didn't trip and fall and smack his face on the stone. Lir believed it was valuable advice.

Then Lir's gaze went to observe the achadhiel and she asked, "Can you walk to your room?" She really did not want to half carry Brann to his room, but she wasn't completely heartless but it was best to get him there before he completely lost his energy. If he passed out on her, she secretly told herself that she will leave him where he fell and hoped it wouldn't be on her.
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Post by Guest »

The Orc discerned a tiny bud of pleasure as Sweeney agreed to sample the local spirits. Holler found the comradery with one near his size and stature strangely comforting. To show his pleasure he grinned at the half giant.

The soles of his waterproofs scraped their way down the few steps. Used to the creaking surroundings of plank walls, the former sailor was slightly apprehensive as he ventured deeper into the cave-like structure. A delighted shiver cascaded down the Orc's spine as a result of the temperature change. Coolness. Finally! Holler hoped the ale would be chilled as well. The luke warm sludge he'd drunk in the alehouse, earlier, could surely be improved on.

Without further ado the imposing, green bulk steamed up to the bar. Only one lonely soul inhabited the room at present, and unfortunately the character - obviously busy reading - didn't resemble a barkeep. Turning his head towards his towering companion he shrugged. Slowly Holler slid his sack down to the rugs beneath and surveyed the dusky twilight behind the counter. Nothing stirred. Thirsty as he was, he slapped his left hand on the countertop. "Customers! Hey. Customers, I say!"
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Post by Brann »

"Thanks once again for the help, Sweeney," said Brann, as the half-giant excused himself and went to look after Holler. The achadhiel was glad of that, for if nothing else it should help keep the place quiet for his rest. And the longer he stood in the relaxing coolness of the Dwimmerwick, the more he realized he needed that quiet time.

After listening to the clerk explain how the rooms worked, and wrinkling his nose at the impermanence of it all - not even keys? - Brann thanked Ulmandra and then glanced around at the structure of the inn in an attempt to figure out which side faced the ocean. If there was any cooling breeze to be had, it would come from there and not the burning expanse of the desert.

"Food sounds good later," he said absently, avoiding the whole question of bhuuz and instead pointing in one direction and looking over his shoulder back to Ulmandra. "The ocean is that way? If I'm hoping for a breeze?"

At Lir's question, Brann simply nodded with a confident expression. "I'll make it, if you have errands to run. Though you might want to claim your room now, if it's busy. I don't know what's to choose from without having gone up yet." The raven-haired rogue shrugged, leaving the choice up to her.

"Thank you once again for all your help," he added, hefting his bandaged left arm in reference. "I'll probably be down for some food later, but if I don't see you perhaps we can meet for breakfast?" A smile rode upon the achadhiel's lips, and his onyx eyes twinkled in the glimmering light of the hall. "To look at my bandages, of course."

When all was settled one way or the other with Lir, Brann moved carefully to the stairs and then climbed to the second floor of the inn. Poking his nose into the empty rooms, he looked for any with the promise of a breath from the sea before finally settling on one. Closing the door behind him and securing the deadbolt, the achadhiel shrugged off his overclothes and laid down, draping his injured arm gingerly across his chest. Letting the last of his defenses lapse, Brann felt the wash of injury, treatment, alcohol and heat flood his system and at last drag him into the darkness of sleep.
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Post by Grant »

Brann didn't have any problems finding a fit room with a window that looked out into the city...generally towards the sea, but thanks to the proximity of other buildings...and the oppressive occlusion of the city's major dome...the sea eluded his eyesight. It did not elude the air, though...and the fresh scent of the Seven Seas could just be smelled upon the breezes that occasionally gasped in through the narrow, unshuttered window.

Few of the windows in Sabata were properly shuttered...and even fewer had proper glass, especially for those buildings nestled under one of the city's three major domes (such as the Dwimmerwick). There was never any rain...never any sandstorms...never any weather at all, and much of the city was always left in the shade. What shutters could be found were designed more for security than any real defense against the elements...and for this reason, most Sabatan shutters were located on the interior of the window instead of outside. Curtains remained quite popular, both as nets against insects and sand as well as for simple privacy. Both of these were evident in Brann's sparse but functional room...along with a wash stand, a small pitcher of clear (if somewhat hard) water, and a soft bed made of wool and down.

Indeed, it was a far more...simple place than Brann's former residence...no complex locks on the doors, precious little cobbling, virtually no strategic defenses, and rather simple facilities...but it was everything Sabata was made to be in story, from it's gleaming, amazing domes to it's exotic spread of people and goods. For now, it was home.

Elsewhere...

Ulmandra was far more than the hostel's stewardess. She was also the hostel's bartender, waitress, maid, and artisan (the last meaning that she did much of the repairs required from time to time), a woman that seemed to single-handedly manage the establishment...at least during much of the daylight marks. "Come with me, hun...you could at least use a drink to refresh yourself. I'll run some up to your friend a little later," she offered to Lir, gesturing towards where Brann had disappeared up the narrow, mud-walled stairway moments before.

Slipping out from behind her little podium desk, she glided into the taproom after the two hulking figures, glancing back to be sure the lady followed. "We have ale from Dort. Abbey Ale, we tend to call it...and it's lovely, though somewhat strong for this early in the day...and absolute death to drink before you travel," she waved. While alcohol was always a preferred drink the world over, it had a strange tendency to kill people if they drank it during desert transit...a strange phenomenon that gave the indigenous locals no end of amusement. "We also have a pe'war juice, made from..." distilled buds of the pa'war, or prickly pear cactus "...made by the locals. I've a good collection of stronger spirits as well, most from Dort, though. I'm afraid imports on good spirits is somewhat limited," she confessed, giving both Holler and Sweeney an apologetic look.
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Post by Lir Calysta Markby »

A violet eye watched as Brann steadied himself and headed to a room to lock himself in and hopefully rest. Lir on the other hand grinned at Ulmandra and shook her head at an offer of another drink. "I will have to take you up on the offer a bit later and would like to shop a bit before retiring. I need to replenish my medicinal supplies." She explained but followed her to the taproom to get Holler and Sweeney something to drink.

"Are there any herb shops and book shops that you might recommend?" She asked. Lir recalled a few places she wanted to check out on the way over here, but gathering some information from this multi-talented woman seemed like the highest priority.
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Post by Guest »

Holler was somewhat dissapointed that no barkeep popped into existence in response to his rather loud call for attention. As he stood there, with Sweeney nearby, a bit of discomfort crept into the Orc's posture. Luckily the arrival of the lady from above saved him from further embarrassment. Seeing Lir in tow, he looked at her questioning. I thought she was going to get herself a room? The ladies' arrival was accompanied by a rather extensive, oral account of the stock; this caused a broad grin to spread lazily out beneath the green nose. Clearly the desk-lady knew something and another about ale and other spirits as well. A woman to my liking! As he hunted down a particular annoying louse in his scalp Holler couldn't help but wonder how the human female would taste.

With a grunt he wiped those wishful cobwebs from his brain and leaned sideways on the counter. With a grin at his tall drinking buddy he said spirited: "Bring us two ales. This heat effects my throat in a bad way!"
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Post by Sweeney »

Sweeney had waited in awkward silence as Holler lived up to his name by bellowing for service. The demand was shortly met by the arrival of the inn's proprietress and Lir. The giant smiled apologetically at the arriving women. Embarrassing as the orc's behavior was, however, Sweeney was beginning to find something oddly charming in his antics. Holler was, if nothing else, direct, and that was a quality Sweeney had lately come to value.

Sweeney nodded in agreement as the innkeepeer mentioned the deadly effects of alcohol in the desert. That was a lesson he'd already learned. Thus, he was a bit alarmed when Holler proceeded to order two ales, apparently with the intention that Sweeney would start drinking with him. This gesture of firendship, which would otherwise have been welcome, posed the pugilist with the dilemma he'd managed to sidestep down at the harbor. Sweeney did not wish to test the strength of his self-control around alcohol. On the other hand, he did not particulary wish to explain his personal prohibition, since it would lead inevitably into the story of his previous life in World's Mouth, and the humiliation he felt over that episode was still fresh.

"Actually," he interjected after Holler's order. "I'd like summa that juice—p'wawr was it?" He was thinking this might come off as curiosity about the local specialties rather than a rejection of the orc's hospitality. Sweeney was still nervous about setting off Holler's hair-trigger temper.

"So you two come here inna boat, right?" he continued, trying to steer the conversation away from the subject of the drinks. "I never been in one myself. Whas'at like?"
'Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees / Letting his arms hang down to laugh
The zebra stripes along his jaw / Swelling to maculate giraffe.'
--T.S. Eliot

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Post by Grant »

Nodding at the two rather large gentlemen, the hostess fetched out the required drinks for them, serving them in her largest tankards...ale for the orc (only an orc could ignore the dangers of alcohol in the desert!) and juice for the half-giant, an inviting solution that was amber-orange in color, and would taste of mint and tangerine upon the lips. But what would really stop both men in their tracks were the tankards themselves, cups that might draw the breath from those more accustomed to very basic tavern mugs.

They were gold. Well...perhaps not real gold, but they were golden in hue and rather amazing to look upon. Definitely a form of metal, they couldn't have possibly been gold...but the mugs had no tarnish upon them, and they seemed to literally gleam in the dim light of the taproom. The hostess hardly seemed to notice them.

"Indeed, love. The Rare Blessings is a fine place for medicines and herbs alike...prepared, that is...while the more fresh varieties tend to be brought in by local farmers in the streets just outside the place. It's north of here a short distance...up and around this very ring..." that was not the direction from which Lir had originally come, but another way to reach the shop "...near the Vats."
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Post by Guest »

As the two marvelous liquid containers surfaced, it took Holler a few flickers to realize their uncommon hue. After all there was ale inside them - well, in his anyway. The woman's earlier comment on how unwise it was to drink strong liquor hadn't really soaked through to the more sensible layers of the Orc's mind. If it had, it probably wouldn't have made any worthy impact. After all in the former sailor's dictionary the 'desert' was out there; he was after all still in the 'city'. In this tomb-like room, where he might spend a lot of time, a bit of strong ale wouldn't hurt.

Now, these golden tankards were a whole different matter, though. Holler gasped as he realized it. He grew even more impressed by the Inn and his discomfort managed to keep up. Carefully one of his huge hands picked up the oversized mug. After a rather civil sip he slowly turned it to let it catch the meagre light. His own face peered back at him. A soft chuckle escaped his throat. With wonder still parading about on his green face, Holler asked: "Miss, what's this stuff? 'T'aint gold, is it?" In his lifetime as an Orc marauder he'd come across the real stuff and this - although it resembled it - wasn't it. He joked with Lir and Sweeney. "Look, I can become rich drinking in this city!"

These strange richess for grasp and out in the open, went against the former war leader's notions of what was right and decent. Treasure - this odd golden material surely could be called that - should be buried, hidden, stashed. Combined with the rather luscious soft furnishings, usually reserved for the truly rich, this place made him feel awkward and out of place. Not wanting to break anything, or unconsciously stealing something, sleipnir stuffed the hand he didn't need to drink in his pocket. There it re-discovered a tiny dragon-pin. Thoughtfully he twirled it around in his fingers, within the confines fabric cave. Perhaps I could find myself a jeweller to valuate.
Lir Calysta Markby
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Post by Lir Calysta Markby »

It was good that the hostess had directed her to the Rare Blessings shop for her shopping needs. It did save her some time without having to go to so many different locations to obtain her goal.

"Thank you, d'war." The word didn't piss the woman off so it was a safe bet that it was not something insulting.

The mugs did make her blink for a moment until Holler's voice rang above her thoughts. She gave a small smirk and looked towards the two. "I'll be heading out for some supplies be back for dinner."

They generally knew where she was going to be with the hostess/barmaid giving her information right in front of them, so hopefully between the two of them, if they needed her they could come find her.
Beautiful avatar by [url=http://nairohe.deviantart.com/]Nairohe![/url] ^_^
Sweeney
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Location: Sabata, TI ~ 22 Chyril

Post by Sweeney »

Sweeney took the golden tankard he was handed without hesitation. he was not fazed by its luxurious appearance—in the circus he'd seen all manner of gilded trinkets and pastework jewels—still, they were pretty to look at, and his, at least, was a fitting receptacle for the delicate liquid within. Tasting the pe'war juice, he found it exotic yet refreshing, and he slowed to down to let its flavors dance on his palate. "Delish!" he proclaimed, satisfied, as he lowered the now-empty tankard to the table. "I'll have 'nother one, if ya don' mind."

Sweeney's opening conversational gambit with his ne companions had fallen flat. Holler seemed caught up in his ale and Lir was excusing herself from the little gathering. The half-giant turned his attention to their hostess. "So, miss. Where canna guy find some honest work in this town? I know they's got the caravans, but I jus' made one crossin'. Not too keen to start another so soon." His deep voice rumbled through the quiet of the Laughing Dwimmerick, but his eyes and manner were friendly.
'Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees / Letting his arms hang down to laugh
The zebra stripes along his jaw / Swelling to maculate giraffe.'
--T.S. Eliot

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Grant
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Post by Grant »

"You'll be lucky to find much of anything these days," replied the hostess evenly as she slid another drink towards one of her large customers. "I've never seen so many people begging in the markets...and we've never had so great a problem with bandits. It must be costing the merchants greatly. There are entire armies of caravan guards wandering the serai even now...men that, if they couldn't find work as guards, would no doubt head out into the desert to become bandits."

"As for work in the city...that's hard to find, too. We've had a lot of refugees...including an unusual number of adhiel...come from Taquar, Pan's Isle, World's Mouth...even Dort, of all places, as well as the usual arrivals from Amun Rah. The flesh markets are strong in the city just now, too...every slave from competition gladiators, pleasure slaves, to the usual hard labor, shipped off to some mine or another."

The slave trade in Sabata was one of the most notorious markets in all the world. While most of the slaves never left Terra Incognita, the very prized ones...beautiful women, literate men, brutal warriors, or trained craftsmen...were worth the risk and investment to ship to foreign markets, with World's Mouth chief among them. Sabata remained largely independent of foreign influence...it was not a part of the Seven Isles, and it was not a part of the Western Kingdoms...and so it was the ideal destination for refugees or those seeking to disappear. Sadly, those dreams often ended in chains.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
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Post by Guest »

The discovery of a pub right in their chosen lodgings had made a happy Orc out of Holler. It galled him however that the serving wench ignored his interest in the shiny mug.

She piqued his interest though, by her tale about the apparent rich pickings in and around the city. As alluring as the career prospects as a bandit might seem, Holler had - for the first time in a long while - started out on the long and narrow path of legality. His perch might be precarious, but as long as he had somekind of sure footing he would try to keep to it. Guard Holler Sleipnir! Unsure the massive Orc tasted the title in combination with his name in his mind.

Then the woman mentioned the meat market. The memories of it were very much alive in the former slave's head. Whatever else happens; I WON'T WASH UP THERE AGAIN!!!, Holler vowed to himself. In the end his trial as as slave had been shortlived, but he didn't want to risk a repetition of it. Violently Sleipnir growled: "Watch out for slavers. They're everywhere... Especially at night!"
Grant
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Post by Grant »

"Well...there might be another opportunity for work, if you're desperate enough," added the hostess, turning her attention to the orc. "You could work in the mines. The mines usually only employ slaves...but the Guild sometimes considers new recruits to help motivate them to keep working. Ah...it isn't considered honorable work, but...big fellows such as yourselves might go far to help the Guild keep their...slaves in line."

Truth be told, no one considered slave drivering to be honorable work...but on rare occasion, it could be profitable. "That mug you've been eyeing came from a man that was once a slave driver. It isn't gold, but it's pretty enough." Ulmandra didn't mention that the mugs were most likely stolen after the ex-slave driver had a falling out of some kind and fled the mine with all he could carry. Whatever happened to him? she pondered briefly.

"What you say is the right of it, though. Be sure you keep your weapons close if you wander the streets at night. The Council...they've forbidden the taking of slaves within sight of Sabata's walls, but...I've heard stories that they don't always respect those rules."
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Sweeney
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Joined: Sun Apr 16, 2006 2:59 am
Location: Sabata, TI ~ 22 Chyril

Post by Sweeney »

(OOC: Sorry for the disappearing act. Hit a patch of RL. Should be better about posting for a while.)

Sweeney's heart sank as he listened to the innkeeper's description of job prospects in Sabata. But discouragement was soon superceded by anger as she brought up the subject of slave driving. "Pfaugh!" spat the half-giant. "Slavin's a dirty business. Walked across that damn desert t' get away from it in the Mouth. Now ya tell me it'sa only work t' be had here? Whassa world comin' to when a man what wanna do a bitta honest work can't find nowhere'll let 'im?"
'Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees / Letting his arms hang down to laugh
The zebra stripes along his jaw / Swelling to maculate giraffe.'
--T.S. Eliot

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